


Like Glitter and Gold

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, okay this starts off hella angsty but rest assured things will turn out fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-08-26 02:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16673155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: Whether by chance or fate, it's Rickon who releases the Genie from his prison. For this, he's given three wishes as a reward.--"Who... who are you?" Rickon asked in a quiet tone, staring at the strange man with wide eyes."Jon Snow, my Lord,” he said, kneeling in front of the child as he held out a handkerchief. "At your service."“Wha - what?”Jon tried not to smile as he moved to wipe away the child’s tears. “No need for tears now, little Lord. I shall offer you three wishes in exchange of freeing me from my prison.”--Title from: Glitter and Gold - Barns Courtney





	1. Chapter 1

**Rickon**   
  
  
  
Rickon sighed as he watched Robin go through his toys like it was his, carelessly throwing away the ones he didn't like and then gathering the ones he does like into one arm.    
  
Rickon could only watch it all happen, unable to do anything about it. 

Sansa might help him get his toys back when she found out, but she’s not home yet and it might already be ruined by the time she arrives.   
.    
With that thought, Rickon glanced at the clock on the wall, hoping that his sister might be on her way home already.   
  
"I'll be back before you know," she promised before leaving, planting a soft kiss between his brows in reassurance. "Behave for me, okay?"   
  
He nodded dutifully. “I will."   
  
He turned back to Robin now, who has made his way to the shelf where his remote-control airplane was displayed.   
  
Rickon felt his heartbeat quicken. “Please, no,” he muttered under his breath, praying Robin would leave it alone.   
  
Robb had given it to him as a birthday present last year and Rickon doesn’t really want his cousin getting a hold of it.   
  
"No, not that," he said, loud, when Robin reached for it. "You can play with whatever you want, just not that one."   
  
Robin scoffed. "Well, it’s whay I want to play with."   
  
He reached up to grab it again but Rickon is quicker; he took the toy and moved away. “You can't have it, it's mine. My brother gave it to me."    
  
“Give it to me or I’ll tell my mother you’re being selfish,” Robin insisted, moving to grab it from Rickon.   
  
“No!” Rickon struggled as his cousin tried to pry it off him, calling him names and hitting him.    
  
Rickon doesn’t care if his cousin takes everything; he can move into their house, he can play with his toys and boss him around like he owns everything — but he can’t have Robb’s gift.   
  
His brother gave it to him and he promised to take care of it.   
  
Robin shoved him, hard, and tried to grab the toy one last time, only to break it in half.    
  
“No,” Rickon gasped in horror, eyes wide as he stared at the disassembled pieces. “You broke it.”   
  
“I just wanted to play with it,” Robin said, unapologetic. “You said I could take whatever I wanted.”   
  
“No, I didn’t,” he said.   
  
His Aunt Lysa said that; she said Robin could play with whatever he wanted because she’s the one who decides around the house now.   
  
“Liar,” Robin accused, stepping on his airplane and breaking it even more. “I’m telling mom.”   
  
In his panic, he shoved Robin and grabbed the pieces quickly to try and salvage it from his cousin’s reach.    
  
Once he had, he ran out of his room quickly and headed outside.   
  
He kept running and running as fast as he could. Away from Robin, away from Aunt Lysa who will surely be mad once she finds out, and away from the home that doesn’t feel like home anymore.   
  
By the time he's reached the crypts his eyes were blurry with tears.    
  
“I hate everything,” he cried out, kicking the stone wall as though it helped.   
  
He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand before settling his toy on the floor to inspect it.   
  
"No. No, no, no," he cried as he went through the broken pieces, sure that he can’t fix it.   
  
It made him start to cry again. He promised Robb he’d learn to fly it on his own; he wanted to show his brother that he could once he woke up.   
  
But with it broken like this, he won’t be able to.    
  
He kicked the ground this time, crying even harder.    
  


  
  
**Jon**   
  
  
  
The silence is disrupted by the sound of a child crying softly nearby, and it's a familiar enough sound that Jon doesn't have to wonder who it is.   
  
_ Rickon _ , he knows his name is.    
  
That's what he'd heard the pretty woman call him. Tall, red of hair, and with a pretty smile. She's the one who always came for the boy; always the one who manages to subdue his tears.   
  
Jon snapped his fingers and a view of the boy erupts into thin air, the image surrounded by a purple mist.    
  
He watched curiously as the boy cried, wondering what it is this time that is making him cry. Jon found him kneeling in front of -- it looks like a toy, a broken one, and it looked like an easy enough problem to fix, if only he could help.   
  
Unfortunately, he’s confined within his prison and no amount of desire can release him from the curse tethering him there.   
  
The boy kept crying for a while, kicking dirt on the ground as his frustrations grew.   
  
It's curious that this is how Jon always seemed to see him; in a state of misfortune.   
  
There were many others before him that have wandered into the cavernous place, but they're not usually this sad. This boy seemed to always be sad.   
  
Of course that's only a part of his life that Jon has known so far, so he can't be sure. Maybe this is only the place he comes to when he wants to cry in peace - but lately, Jon has noticed how often that need seemed to arise.   
  
Stuck in his thoughts, Jon didn't notice the boy rising up from his spot, and only realized it when his surroundings started to shake.   
  
"Ooof." He falls on his ceiling, the whole place turning upside down.    
  
The boy has noticed him. Or, well — his wineskin, really, and Jon can almost taste his freedom.   
  
Purple smoke enveloped him as he was released from his prison, transporting him into the outside world so he is no longer isolated from it.   
  
It's been centuries since he was last released; the world he knew now long forgotten. This new world is strange but he's gotten plenty of time to familiarize himself with it.   
  
He found the boy frozen in shock at his sudden appearance, and it took him a moment to gather his own bearings.    
  
"Who... who are you?" The boy asked in a quiet tone, staring at him with wide eyes.   
  
"Jon Snow, my Lord,” he says, kneeling in front of the child as he held out a handkerchief out of nowhere. "At your service."   
  
“Wha - what?”    
  
Jon tried not to smile as he moved to wipe away the child’s tears. “No need for tears now, little Lord. I shall offer you three wishes in exchange of freeing me from my wineskin.”   
  
“You - your what?”   
  
This time, Jon actually smiled. “Three wishes. Anything you want except for money, superpowers or to have more wishes. Also, you can’t wish harm upon anyone.”   
  
“Of course not,” he said, looking offended that Jon would even suggest it. “But — but how?”   
  
“Oh. Simple, really. Like this.” He snapped his fingers and instantly the toy in between them began to reassemble itself.    
  
Once done, Jon smiled at the boy and reached for the toy to show him. “See?”   
  
His efforts are repaid with a hug and it made Jon’s heart melt. “You fixed it. Thank you.”   
  
“You’re welcome, little Lord,” he said, ruffling his hair fondly as he’d seen the woman do.   
  
“You should stop calling me that,” he advised, offering a hand to Jon. “I’m Rickon Stark.”   
  
He shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Rickon Stark. Now, what are your three wishes?”   
  
Kids are usually simple to please, they'd make a few small wishes and get on with their lives as though finding a Genie is all too common.    
  
It’s the adults who makes things more difficult; they tend to become greedy once they’re rewarded with the wishes.   
  
Rickon sat down. “Can you make the people in my house leave?”   
  
“Well, yes. But you have to be specific about it or else it won’t work the way you want it to.”    
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Magic is a tricky thing. It’s playful. If you’re not careful, it may end up hurting you,” Jon sat down across from him. “Why do you want the people in your house to leave?”   
  
“Because they’re mean and they don’t belong there,” he said, tears bubbling up in his eyes again. “Winterfell is our home but they’re trying to take it.”   
  
“Who’s trying to take it?”   
  
“Robin,” he said bitterly. “My Aunt Lysa and her husband, Uncle Petyr. They took everything from us and Sansa says we can’t do anything about it.”   
  
“Sansa?”   
  
“My sister. She takes care of me.” Rickon sniffed, wiping his tears away. “She’s all I have now because mother and father are gone, Bran’s away, so is Arya, and Robb’s — asleep.”   
  
Jon tilted his head curiously. “Asleep?”   
  
Rickon nodded. “At the hospital. He doesn’t wake up no matter how loud I try to call his name.”   
  
“Ah.” Jon said, realizing what he meant. No wonder he always found the child crying.   
  
Before he can say anything else, Jon heard footsteps. “Rick?”   
  
It’s the sister, and Jon knew it’d be best to leave now so he won’t frighten her.    
  
He turned to the boy. “Take the wineskin with you so I can reach you if you need help. And if you do,  just call my name. Okay?”   


  
  
  
  
**Sansa**   
  
  
  
Sansa could feel something was wrong as soon as she entered the house.  
  
Usually, her littlest brother would be the first one to greet her by the door. Instead, it’s Robin standing there, a determined expression on his face.  
  
“Rickon pushed me,” Robin told her eagerly, expecting her to sympathize.  “And he wouldn’t let me play with his toys.”  
  
“I’m sure Rickon didn’t mean to push you,” she said gently, trying to keep her face impassive. “Where is he now?”  
  
Robin shrugged, as expected.  


She sighed, pushing her oncoming irritation aside. Keeping her temper in check with Robin was a difficult feat, but necessary.

“And your mother?”

Sansa’s assuming Aunt Lysa doesn’t know what happened yet or else she’d be going on and on about how their parents must not have taught them some manners and she’d be punishing Rickon for it. 

The thought of her brother made her wince; she promised to get home early, but her visit to Brienne, their family’s lawyer, had taken too long and with little result.   
  
“Where’s your mother?”   
  
“She went out with Uncle Petyr,” Robin said simply, looking at her expectantly. “Are you going to punish Rickon?”   
  
Sansa took a deep breath, summoning a calm that just wasn’t there.    
  
In her opinion, her brother’s being punished enough with having to live with all of them.

He’s probably hiding from them right now, alone and afraid. She would very much like to come and find him  and see if he’s alright but she needed to fix this before her aunt finds out.   
  
She offered Robin a faint smile. “What do you say we go to the kitchen and make you a milkshake? Would that make you feel better? ”   
  
He agreed smugly and they headed to the kitchen so she could try and persuade him out of telling his mother about whatever happened him and Rickon.    


She’d come home to similar scenarios enough times that she knew keeping it from her aunt was the better option. 

Once she’s sure that Robin was appeased and she’d secured a promise from him to keep it a secret, Sansa finally went out to find Rickon.   
  
Her brother only has one hiding spot; for some reason, he often found comfort in the Crypts and would come there seeking a moment of peace.    
  
Sansa figured it’s because their siblings used to love playing there and it let him remember the simpler times.   
  
“Rick?” She called out as soon as she’s in the tunnel, using her phone to light her way. “Are you here?”

He doesn’t respond but she kept walking and found him sitting on a corner, eyes red from crying.

“There you are,” she said quietly, kneeling in front of him. “Are you okay?”   
  
He shook his head.   
  
“That was a stupid question,” Sansa agreed, shifting so she could sit next to him. “How are you feeling?”   
  
Rickon sniffed, tucking himself to Sansa’s side.  She put an arm around him, pressing a kiss on top of his head.   
  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t home earlier.”   
  
“It’s okay,” Rickon said solemnly. “I know you have to take care of Robb, too.”   
  
They sat there for a while; as much as this is Rickon’s hiding spot, it felt like her own escape too. Just a moment where all her problems doesn’t exist.   
  
“You ready to get back there?” She asked later, turning to her little brother.   
  
He frowned. “I don’t want to go back there. I wish mom and dad were here. And Robb, Bran, even Arya. I wish — “   
  
He stopped all of a sudden, deep in thought. Sansa waited for him to continue but he merely tucked himself closer to her.   
  
“I want things to be like it was before,” he finally said after a while, and her heart aches for him.   
  
“I know. I want it too,” Sansa whispered, trying not to let herself cry.   
  
She had her own regrets; if she could go back to how it was when her parents were still alive then she’d do things differently.   
  
She’d spent so much time chasing after something that doesn’t even matter and now she’s lost almost everything that did.   
  
She shook her head to clear her thoughts; it won’t do her well to dwell on past mistakes.    
  
She still has her brothers and sister and that could be enough.   
  
Rickon suddenly looked up at her, a guilty expression on his face. “I’m sorry. For whining. I know you’re trying your best to make things okay.”   
  
Sansa gave him a smile, pressing a kiss between his brows. “I know, baby. Don’t worry about it.”    
  
“How was Robb?”   
  
Sansa paused, thinking of what to say. She found it difficult to give the same answer everyday.   
  
“Still the same,” she admitted, and Rickon tried his best not to look disappointed. She brushed his hair back. “He’ll be better. Robb is strong.”   
  
Rick nodded. “It’s why we should be strong, too.”   
  
Sansa smiled. “Exactly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Rickon**  
  
  
That night, after Sansa had brought him back to the house and fixed him dinner, Rickon called for Jon.  
  
As he did the first time, Jon Snow appeared into thin air with purple smoke around him.

Rickon doesn’t think it’s less frightening now that he’s prepared for it, but he’s hoping he can get used to it.

He sat up on his bed, regarding Jon thoughtfully. “If I wanted things to be like before, could you make that come true?”  
  
Jon sat down the corner of his bed, just as thoughtful as he studied Rickon. “Yes, theoretically, but it’s still too ambiguous. It could go wrong.”  
  
Rickon frowned. “What could go wrong?”  
  
“Well... if you wished for things to go back like it was then it would be like going back in time,” He said slowly, carefully. “It sounds great, I know, but the horrible things might just happen again. And who knows if you can find me again that time?”  
  
Rickon frowned. “So what do I do?”  
  
Jon gave him a sheepish look. “My advice? Stop dwelling on the past. It’s difficult, but... the only way to go is forward.”  
  
“And if I wanted my parents to be alive again?”  
  
Jon sighed. “I could grant it, yes. But remember, it doesn’t change the fact that they’ve already died. They’d be different — I don’t think you’d want it for them.”  
  
Rickon huffed. “What’s the use of getting all these wishes if you can’t do what it’s supposed to?”  
  
Jon laughed wryly, ruffling Rickon’s hair. “Magic was never meant to enhance our lives and mine in particular was never a gift, little Lord. It’s a curse.”  
  
“A curse?” Rickon gulped. _Like in Sansa’s stories?_ He wondered. “Well... who gave it to you?”  
  
Jon sighed, stretching his arms out before he flopped down across the foot of Rickon’s bed. “A queen from my time.”  
  
Rickon’s eyes went wide. “Like an evil queen?”  
  
Jon smiled fondly at him. “Sort of, but... it was complicated.”  
  
Rickon lied down on his stomach, leaning over his hands as he stared at Jon in intrigue. “Well, why did she curse you then? Did you hurt her?”  
  
“Aye. Though I did not mean to,” he admitteda on a sigh. “I couldn’t return her love for me and for that she was angry. She had a witch curse me and now here I am.”  
  
“That’s a mean thing to do,” Rickon decided. “But then... why didn’t you love her?”  
  
“I just did not. You can’t truly teach your heart to love anyone. It just decides on its own.”  
  
“So, how do you break the curse?”  
  
Jon turned to give him a sad smile. “I could not. This shall be my fate for the rest of time.”  
  
Rickon frowned. “That can’t be true. Can’t we find the witch and make her change her mind?“  
  
“The deed is done. It cannot be altered.” Jon leaned on his side. “And the witch is long dead, little Lord. I doubt she can do anything to help me now.”  
  
“How is she dead? She’s a witch.”  
  
Jon laughed. “It does not mean she’s immortal. To be fair, she lived longer than she was meant to but she still died in the end.”  
  
“Well, what else is there?” Rickon asked, trying to remember how people broke curses in those fairytales Sansa liked to tell him. “Wait — how about a true love’s kiss?”  
  
Jon gave him a smile. “I assume it would not work, unfortunately.”  
  
Rickon sighed. “Sansa’s cursed too, you know.”  
  
Jon raised an eyebrow, curious. “How do you know?”  
  
“I heard her tell her friend that she was,” Rickon told him sadly. “I’ll give her one of my wishes so she can break it — “ and then it came to him. Rickon turned to Jon with a smile. “I can give you the other one if you want, so you could break your curse, too.”  
  
“You’d do that?” Jon asked him strangely. Rickon thought he’d be glad. “What about you?”  
  
Rickon frowned in confusion. “What about me? I’ll still have one wish and that’s more than I had yesterday. Besides, you and Sansa have better wishes, I don’t even know what I want to wish for.”  
  
“Well, what do you want most?”  
  
Rickon thought about it. He wanted a lot of things but, to be true, he wanted his family to be whole again most of all.  
  
He wants the house to be as full as he remembered it; his mother and father dancing to the music, Bran reading comics in the living room next to Robb playing video games with Theon Greyjoy, Arya egging them on, and Sansa baking lemon cakes in the kitchen.  
  
Rickon would be all around, trying to get one of them to play with him. Usually though, he ends up watching Sansa as she baked, because she’s the only one who’d let him talk her ears off.  
  
“For everyone to be home,” Rick said decisively. “But also for Robb to wake up. I miss him.”  
  
  
  
  
  
**Sansa**  
  
  
  
Sansa heard the voices before she could even open Rick’s door; she knew one of the voices was definitely her brother’s, but the other —  
  
It sounds like a grown man’s voice.  
  
That meant it can’t possibly be Robin. It wouldn’t be Petyr either, because Sansa definitely just saw him in the Living Room.  
  
She opened Rick’s door before she could think more on it but she found him sitting on his bed alone. She’d think it was all in her head if her brother didn’t look so surprised.  
  
She went inside, looking around to see if anyone was there. Rick seemed to be  alone but she swore she heard someone else there just a moment before.  
  
Her gaze dropped to his bed where clothes lay scattered all over. She frowned. “What are you doing with Robb’s clothes?”  
  
“Um...” Rickon blinked, looking to the floor before meeting her eyes again. “I was just... trying them out?””  
  
Sansa narrowed her eyes at her little brother. “Rick?” She urged gently, hoping he’d just tell her the truth. “Who were you talking to just now?”  
  
Rickon made a face, his guilt peeking through. “You weren’t supposed to find out yet, just -  don’t be scared, alright? I was talking to my genie.”  
  
Sansa has to pause for a second to think that through. “Your genie?”  
  
Rickon nodded, hesitant, before raising the wineskin he’d been carrying around for a few days now. “I found him in the Crypts.”  
  
“Okay?” Sansa said slowly, her earlier concerns now muddled with confusion. “Right. And where is your Genie now?”  
  
Rickon grinned. “In his wineskin. Hold on, I’ll introduce you.” Rickon shook the wineskin slightly. “Jon, come out.”  
  
Nothing happened for a moment, until —-  
  
Purple smoke surrounded them, vonfusing Sansa even more, and suddenly, a very shirtless man appeared beside Rickon.  
  
“Holy shit — “ Sansa shrieked before covering her mouth for the bad language. “What the - how did — “  
  
She looked between Rickon and the man, the pair of them looking at her warily.  
  
She wouldn’t believe in these kind of things normally because _what the fuck_ , but she literally just saw him appear out of thin air, so...  
  
What the fuck?  
  
Finally, she settled on something appropriate to ask: “How long has he been here?

Sansa would have to say that this explained a lot; Rickon has been acting differently the past week. He seemed a lot less miserable and no amount of teasing from Robin had made him run off as it usually would.  

She hadn’t been able to explain it, but this - whatever this is - did.

“A week?” Rickon admitted sheepishly. “I’m sorry, we were going to tell you but I didn’t want you to be scared so I thought I’d make Jon look presentable first.” He made a face as he glanced at Jon. “If you came in after another minute he would’ve been presentable.”  
  
Sansa couldn’t help but just laugh. She’s not sure she completely understands what’s happening right now.   
  
She’s been stressed lately, maybe she’s hallucinating?   
  
Rickon tapped the man, as though some sort of signal, and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of Sansa.   
  
“My Lady, I’m Jon Snow. I’m at your brother’s service,” he began. “And... yours, as well. By extension.” He cleared his throat. “I swear to you, I seek him no harm.”   
  
“Just - “ Sansa stepped back a little. “Give me a moment to make sense of this. You’re — you’re a Genie?”   
  
“Aye.” He nodded dutifully and stood up. He turned to Rickon, as though waiting for a signal. “Rickon’s genie, specifically.”   
  
“Yeah. Okay.”   
  
Without saying anything else, Sansa stepped out of the room. She can’t think with the guy looking all naked and attractive

 _A Genie?_ She thought incredulously, unable to grasp the truth of it in the moment.

She leaned behind Rickon’s door, trying to pick up her thoughts.   
  
“Sansa, is everything alright?” Petyr Baelish approached, staring at her in concern. “I heard you scream.”  
  
“I’m fine,” she said, not quite as snappy as she would’ve preferred. She straightened up as he stood in front of her. “I just slipped on the floor.”  
  
It’s the wrong answer. It only gave Baelish the opportunity to come close and ‘inspect’ her, acting every bit as the doting uncle he’s been pretending to be in the last few months.  
  
“You’re not hurt anywhere?” He asked, one hand on her cheek and the other too low on her back.   
  
Rickon’s door opened, his head peeking out, and Baelish thankfully stepped away.  
  
“Sansa?”  
  
“Everything’s alright, Rick. I’ll be in in a second, go on.” She directed her brother to head back in but let the door stay ajar so Baelish dare make any more moves.  
  
She turned to him, trying to look unfazed.  “We’re, uh... We’re visiting Robb today.”  
  
Baelish nodded. “I can have Mr. Brune drive you if — “  
  
“No, that’s okay. We’ll manage.” She paused, the next words clawing its way out of her throat. “Thank you.”  
  
  
  
  
  
**Jon**  
  
  
  
Of everyone that Rickon has mentioned to Jon, he found Petyr Baelish the most irksome.   
  
There’s something truly horrible about the man that he just can’t pinpoint. But really, maybe it’s because of how he looked at Rickon’s sister.  
  
There’s something off there; something worrying.  
  
And as Sansa re-entered Rickon’s room, her face pale and eyes bright with unshed tears, Jon knew he was right.  
  
“We’re going to see Robb?” Rickon asked excitedly, grinning between Jon and Sansa. “Can Jon come with? He needs to practice being human.”  
  
Sansa blinked, evidently confused, but she noddded in acceptance. “Sure. And you can explain to me what this is, exactly.”  
  
Jon pretended not to notice Rickon’s sister staring at him curiously. If he’s honest, this went loads better than he could have expected.  
  
Some people would’ve assumed this is some sort of scam, he’s experienced that many times before, but he guessed seeing someone appear out of thin air would speed the process of getting over the disbelief.


	3. Chapter 3

**Jon**

 

Jon waited until Rickon was distracted, walking ahead of them on the hospital’s hallway, before he decided to say anything to Sansa.

Rickon had explained the entire thing about Jon to her on the car ride over, with him jumping in whenever he had things to add, but Sansa remained quiet as she listened, taking it all in with grace.

Once they’d finished, she only nodded and acted as though it all made perfect sense to her. 

Others would have taken more convincing, he noted. He’s even had people confuse him for a magician, bugging him about his magic tricks when there was none. 

Not many would face the truth so bravely. And yet he could tell that she’s faced more horrors than he could imagine with just one look in her eyes. 

Maybe the existence of a magical creature was less horrifying after whatever it is she’s endured. . 

“Your uncle. He frightens you,“ he said in a low voice, making her turn to him in surprise. 

She probably would have preferred it if he hadn’t noticed anything peculiar, or if he maybe just didn't mention it, but Jon couldn’t keep silent on the matter. 

He’s met plenty of men like Petyr Baelish; men who thought themselves very clever and above everyone else. One look in Sansa’s eyes told him that she’s met plenty of the sort as well. 

“Thst’s not - “ She shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she decided to say, though Jon didn’t need to hear the whole story to know the truth. 

There was an unsavory history there, he could tell. 

“You don’t have to be frightened of him anymore,” he assured her, though he knew it was not his place to do so. “If he seeks to harm you or Rickon, I’d make sure he regrets it.”

Her lips quirked up on a teasing smile. “I thought you were a Genie, not a bodyguard.”

He snapped his fingers and his clothes - Robb’s clothes - disappeared all of a sudden, in exchange of a black shirt, a pair of black jeans, and leather boots. 

“I’ll be whatever you need,” he told her with a smile that only grew as hers did. 

She looked him over. “It suits you. The color.”

“Then I shall continue wearing it,” he decided as the pair of them followed Rickon into a room. 

There, Jon finally found Robb Stark, lying unconscious on a hospital bed; he looked like an older version of his youngest brother. The sharp bone structure, the curly red hair. If Jon could see his eyes he’s sure it’d be as blue as the Little Lord’s, too. 

Rickon took the chair near the bed, standing on it so he could give Robb a hug. Almost immediately after, once he’d settled himself on the bedside, he launched into a story, enthusiastically telling his brother everything that happened in the past week.

Jon stood on a corner with a smile, listening distractedly as  he watched the boy light up animatedly in a way he hasn’t seen since they met. 

He must love his brother very much, he thought. Though it’s no true surprise. He seems a very caring boy. 

Jon had a brother once, long ago. A sister, too. Though he can’t say he cared much for them, just as they surely didn’t care for him. Jon couldn’t imagine loving them as Rickon loved his siblings. 

What Jon had with his family was complicated, something fated to be doomed in the end; a kinship marred by lies, deceit, and a war for a throne Jon never wished to sit upon.   
  
  


After their visit to the hospital, Sansa relented to Rickon’s wish to get some ice cream. 

“You’ll love it, Jon,” he swore, giving him a toothy grin. “There’s so many flavors you won’t be able to decide which to pick.”

Jon merely grinned, and let him choose the flavor for him. 

He couldn’t find it in his heart to tell the boy that he’s familiar with the dessert

Once done making their order and had it sitting on their table. He found both Rickon and Sansa staring at him expectantly. 

“What is it?”

Rickon gestured to his cup. “Try it.”

_ Oh _ . He did as told, making a show of licking his spoon clean after that first taste. 

“It’s delicious,” he confirmed, chuckling at the delighted expression on Rickon’s face before he started devouring his own food. 

He glanced at Sansa, a soft smile on her face as she ruffled Rickon’s hair fondly, just like he’d seen her do plenty of times in the Crypts. 

He’s not known them for long, but he’d give up all he has to give them the world. 

It’s a surprising thought, especially for him, but it’s no less true. 

He’s met plenty of families in his time, has spent time with them and granted them their wishes, but he’s not seen any of them love each other so devotedly as the Starks seem to. 

“Thank you,” Sansa told him as they waited for Rickon to wash his hands in the restroom. “For indulging him.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he answered innocently. 

She snorted. “You’re telling me you’ve never had ice cream before?”

He grinned. She’s a sharp one, Sansa. She’s right, too; he may have been stuck in a wineskin for centuries, but he was still a magical being, after all. 

“Alright. I might have tried it once or twice,” he admitted. . “I couldn’t disappoint the little Lord, though.”

Sansa tilted her head at him, studying him curiously. She seemed to be considering something and he could tell she couldn’t make up her mind about whatever it is. 

After a moment, she finally spoke. “I really hope you’re not just tricking my brother into some sort of evil scheme.”

He felt his smile widen. So that’s where Rickon got the skepticism. Not that he blamed her. He might be suspicious too, if he was in her place. 

“I’ll just have to prove it then,” he decided. 

  
  
  
  


**Rickon**

 

For a little while, Rickon actually forgot how miserable his life was. But Robin was never one to let such illusions linger. 

He was in the backyard, practicing how to fly his toy plane with Jon, when his cousin came out through the door. 

Jon disappeared suddenly, but he knew he wasn’t truly alone. Just hidden. 

“I thought you broke that,” Robin commented as he stood next to Rickon, watching his toy flying up in the sky. 

_ You broke it _ , he wanted to say, but kept the thought to himself. 

“A friend fixed it for me,” he said instead, turning his attention back to his toy. 

Rickon remembered fighting with Bran a lot when his brother still lived here, he even annoyed Arya at times, but they were never like this with him. Even when he fought with them, Rickon never doubted that they loved him.

But Robin wasn’t like his siblings; his cousin just liked to be cruel

“You suck at flying it. Let me have a go,” Robin said suddenly, grabbing the control from his hands before he could protest. 

Rickon took a sharp breath, hands fisting at his sides as he started to shake in anger. 

He’s not selfish; if Robin had asked properly and promised to be careful with it, he would’ve given the control willingly. But his cousin never asks. He just took whatever he wanted and acted as though it was always his. 

He shut his eyes. He’d promised Sansa not to get in trouble. Aunt Lysa was home and was angry about something that had to do with her husband but that  was all Rickon knew. And that if Robin got mad at him and ran to his mother, she would surely take her anger out on Rickon,. 

He took a deep breath, but his efforts to keep calm was ruined by a sudden crashing sound. Once again, his cousin broke his toy. Only this time, it’s too far away for Rickon to know exactly where it landed..

“Oops,” Robin said, handing him back the control, not sorry at all. “Maybe your friend didn’t fix it right.”

Rickon, his eyes still watching the sky, found it in himself to smile. Zooming out of nowhere was his toy, all parts completely intact and flying all on its own. 

“I think he fixed it just fine,” Rickon said brightly to his cousin, who was staring at it in confusion. 

He picked it up when it landed on the grass, saying a quiet thank you to Jon before he ran inside the house with a huge grin. 

The kook on Robin’s face was too priceless. 

Too preoccupied with the thought, he hadn’t noticed the man standing ahead of him before he’d bumped into his side. 

Rickon sucked in a deep breath, looking up to find his Aunt’s husband standing there. 

“Sorry Uncle Petyr,” he apologized in a small voice, looking down in fear.

Rickon didn’t know the man very well; Sansa had asked him to avoid him if he could, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He didn’t like him much, really. He always seemed to be watching everything and always gave Sansa funny looks.

“It’s alright, Rickon,” he said in a smooth voice. “Was Sweetrobin giving you a hard time?”.

He shook his head. “No, we were just playing,” he lied before excusing himself.

He blew out a breath once he was in the comfort of his room. Most days, it felt like the only safe place in the house aside from Sansa’s room, but he only went there when his sister wsd home. 

Jon appeared not a moment later, looking concerned. “Are you alright?” 

He nodded and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like Uncle Petyr very much.”

Jon ruffled his hair. “I don't care much for him either, little Lord.”

Rickon smiled at him. “I’m glad you're here, though. Things are better with you around.” Then he frowned. “I’m gonna miss you when you leave.”

He would like for Jon to stay with them forever, if he could have his way. He’d like Robb to meet him and he’s sure Bran and Arya would love him, too. It would be so good to have him stay with them, but he knew his friend might not want to. 

Arya’s only lived in Winterfell for twenty years and she wanted badly to leave and did it as soon as she could. If Rickon had been stuck in the North for hundreds of years like Jon, he probably wouldn’t want to stay either.

Jon furrowed his brows in confusion. “Where am I going?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out once we’ve broken your curse,” Rickon said, frowning as well. 

_ Unless… _ An idea sprung up and he had to stop himself from smiling.  _ Unless I give him a reason to stay. _

Two days later, after thinking it over some more, he decided to set his plans into motion. 

“Arya, can I ask you something?” He asked on a whisper, speaking to his sister through the phone. 

“Sure, Rick. What do you want to know?”

He checked for the door, keeping an eye out for Sansa. He’d also left his wineskin in his room so Jon wouldn’t hear the conversation. 

Rickon has to be careful about this. 

He took a deep breath. “How do I get two people to fall in love?”   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Rickon**

As it turned out, his sister was no help at all when it came to questions about love. In the ten minutes that Rickon spoke to Arya, he’s become convinced that she’s even more hopeless about it than he is. 

Instead of answering his question, Arya asked him some of her own. 

_ Why do you need to know? _ No reason. Just curious.  _ Right. Who are you trying to set up? _ No one, I swear. I just saw something on TV.  _ What did you see? _ It’s not important.  _ If it:s not important then why are you asking me? _

The longer they spoke, the farther they got to the point. Towards the end of it, Rickon just sighed in resignation. “Nevermind, Arya. You’re no help at all.”

His sister laughed on the other line. “If you really want to know, you should ask Sansa. She’s the love expert in the family.”

It didn’t sound like such a bad idea in Rickon’s opinion, so he did as Arya advised to ask his oldest sister directly. The problem is figuring out how to do that without being obvious. 

Thankfully, as though even the gods were on his side, opportunity presented itself only a week after. 

“Why do we have to go to this party again?” Rickon asked with a pout as Sansa fixed his tie into a neat bow. 

Despite his protests, Sansa has managed to get him into one of his old tux for tonight’s event. Honestly though, Rickon didn’t how his attire could make a difference in how people looked at him. All they see in him was all that he has lost, as though he was a walking ghost of the people he loved. 

“We’re going because it’s right downstairs and Aunt Lysa would  _ like _ us to attend,” Sansa told him, though she made it sound as though their Aunt asked politely instead of commanding it, as Rickon assumed she did. 

Still, regardless of Sansa’s explanation, he couldn’t understand what they had to celebrate.

Everything sucks, in his opinion, and he would rather stay in his room than be out there with people he didn’t even like. 

“I know someone you’d be excited to see,” Sansa added, seeing right through him. She always does. But her words doesn:t have any effect and she knew it. “Would you at least do it for me? I’d feel much better if you were there by my side.”

Rickon frowned, conflicted. Of course he’d want to be there for his sister. She’s his only family and he’d do anything to make sure she’s okay. But what can he even do? He’s just a kid.

“what if...” An idea formed itself in his mind. “What if Jon comes with? I don’t want him to be stuck on his own and he still needs to practice being human again.”

They both turned to Jon, who was quietly standing by the window. Their gaze made him stand up straight, looking between them in confusion.

“What do you mean practice being human?” she asked slowly, turning back to Rickon. 

He shrugged innocently. “Well, for after I free him. See, Jon was cursed by a witch, that’s how he became a Genie. If I wish it, I think he can be free. But he needs to practice living without his powers so he’ll be okay after.”

Sansa looked between the pair of them, considering it, and he signalled for Jon to copy him as he put on his best puppy-dog face and hope that it’d work. 

Sansa snorted. “You two are ridiculous. Alright, fine. He can come.” She turned to Jon. “But if you really want to practice or whatever then you have to go through the door like everybody else. No magic.”

He gave her a smile. “Yes, maam,”

Rickon scratched his head. No magic should be okay, but -- “How will he get in? I don’t think he'd be on the list.”

Sansa ruffled his hair. “I’ll have someone put him on it. Just tell them you’re my guest.”

Rickon grinned then, pleased that his plan’s basically working itself out.    
  
  
  


**Sansa**

It’s funny how time can change so much in a person’s life. 

Hasn’t it only been three months ago when her family was still complete?  And now she’s scrambling to make sure what's left of it remained intact, difficult as it was. 

She took a champagne flute from an offered tray, maintaining a practiced smile on her lips as guests approached her one after the other. 

_ Connections _ . That was one of Petyr’s lessons, happily revealing his secrets to her like a typical cartoon villain.  _ What makes a man powerful? It’s through connections a person makes and the right name. You, my darling, have both. _

She rolled her eyes in thought, taking a sip of her drink. The man liked to think he was clever, yet he can never seem to shut up about how smart he was. 

As though her thoughts summoned the man himself, she heard her name called from across the room. 

“Sweetling, there you are,” Petyr greeted her in a sickly-sweet voice, grabbing her by the waist before planting an unwelcome kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

“Uncle Petyr,” she greeted, forcing herself not to pull away. He's getting bolder these days.

She glanced around the room, making sure her Aunt Lysa wasn’t actually seeing this or else the woman might actually murder her on the spot.

“I hear you have a guest,” he whispered, his grasp on her becoming tighter “What was it Ros said his name was? James? Jack?”

Her Aunt doesn't seem to be anywhere nearby, which explains the boldness from her uncle, but she does find Jon watching her intently. 

She breathed a sigh of relief; he's a welcome sight as an idea came to her. 

They’ve briefly discussed her uncle before so he’d know, or at least guess, that she’s uncomfortable around the man. 

She nodded subtly at him, quietly calling for his help, and he didn’t need more explanation to start making his way over to her. 

“His name is Jon, actually,” she corrected, pulling herself away from Petyr as Jon got closer. 

“Hey, there you are,” she said smoothly before pulling him into a hug and whispered, “You promised to be anyone I want?”

He nodded and she stepped back just in time to catch the irritation on Petyr’s face. 

“Uncle Petyr, this is my boyfriend. Jon Snow.”   
  
  


**Jon**

Jon has been around for… well, a very long time. Granted, majority of that time was spent inside a magical wineskin, but observing humankind has become one of his favorite past times that it sometimea feel as though nothing can shock him. 

Yet he still struggled to keep a straight face when Sansa introduced him as her  _ boyfriend _ . 

He kept his face clear of shock, offering her uncle a polite smile even though it’s the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Jon Snow, sir.” he greeted, holding a hand out like he’s seen in the movies. The man made a face at it before shaking it briefly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Jon maybe squeezed his hand a bit harder than necessary, but the guy made a good effort of hiding it.

“Hm. Yes. “ he took his hand back. “Petyr Baelish, Sansa’s uncle.”

If Jon's completely honest, he’s been itching to meet the guy. The more he’s heard of him from Rickon, the more he’s tempted to do terrible things to him. 

His magic will not allow him to snap a finger and make Petyr Baelish spontaneously combust like he wanted, but he would prefer just using his fist to punch him in the face anyway.

He was a warrior once; he can still probably kill a man with his bare hands should the need arise. 

“Where’s Rickon?” Sansa asked suddenly, turning to him worriedly as she noticed her younger brother's absence.

He rubbed her back gently in reassurance. “He’s with a friend. Lyanna Mormont, I think her name was?” He turned to Baelish again, eager to get Sansa away from the creep. “If you’d excuse us, sir. It’s a good song playing, I’d be remiss not to give my girl a dance.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before pulling her towards the dance floor and waited until they’re a good distance away before she blew out a breath. 

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He gave her a reassuring smile, reaching for her hands so he could place it on his shoulders. She did say he was her boyfriend, didn't she? Might as well play the part.. 

They’re quiet for a while as they swayed to the music and he somehow found himself lost in the moment; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been to a gathering this grand, especially not one where he actually enjoyed himself. 

He’s convinced this could be the first and it has plenty to do with the the pretty woman in his arms. 

He thought of the first time he saw her; it was the first time Rickon had gone into the Crypts as he cried, his quiet sobs echoing throughout the dark tunnel. Jon was sad for the boy, and watched him until someone finally came who can give him comfort. 

It was Sansa who cam, the only one who ever did, and Jon was enthralled by the sight of her, just as he was again as they danced. 

"What are you thinking?” Her voice cut through his thoughts and he found his attention back on her. 

She's looking at him curiously, her brows creased just so, and he couldn't help but smile at how cute she looked.

“I was wondering if I’d told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

“Nice.” Her lips quirked up in amusememt. “That’s smooth for an old man.”

He laughed in surprise. ‘I am not an old man.”

“No?” she asked, a slightly teasing lilt in her voice. 

He shook his his head on confirmation. “No, not truly. Not in the way that counts.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been stuck in my prison for most of my years. It’s not truly living, it’s merely existing.  A servant to the power I yield yet do not own.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Rickon said you were cursed?”

“Aye. By a Red Witch of Asshai. Though if you asked her, I’m sure she’d tell you this was a gift.”

“How come?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really make much sense to me, even now. All I know is that people wanted me dead and this was her idea of a compromise.”

“So if she didn’t do this, you’d be dead?”

“Or banished for the rest of my life, yes.”

Sansa’s lips quirked up teasingly. “So… it really actually was a gift?”

_ A woman with fire in her hair and the sea in her eyes. The Red God has plans for you, Jon Snow. I see it in the flames. _

Jon offered her a smile, tucking a stray strand of hair on the back of her ear. “Mayhaps you’re right.”


End file.
